


Within the Walls

by sparrowrider



Series: borroweronpa [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Borrowers Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, borrower makoto naegi, i'll add more as stuff pops up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowrider/pseuds/sparrowrider
Summary: When Makoto Naegi made a deal with Hope's Peak Academy to save his kind, he never imagined things would turn out like this.(Or: Makoto is a borrower forced into a killing game.)
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko & Naegi Makoto
Series: borroweronpa [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991953
Comments: 33
Kudos: 126





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> This post was largely inspired by some amazing artwork I saw of borrower!Makoto on Tumblr!
> 
> [Check it out here!](https://sam-cant-function.tumblr.com/post/617953922935668736/how-bout-some-more-tiny-makoto-d)
> 
> For those who don’t know, the Borrowers are a fictional race created by author Mary Norton! They’re basically tiny people—and by tiny, I mean a few inches tall—who live in the walls of human “Beans” and borrow little things they need to survive. They always try to keep their existence a secret as well :D

When Makoto awakens, the first thing he notices is that his mouth feels like sandpaper.

The second thing he notices is that he’s sprawled out on a desk, which immediately sends alarm bells ringing through his head, because while he’d be the first to admit that he can be a bit careless, _what the heck?!_ He may slip up every now and then, but falling asleep on a desk in plain sight of humans—that was beyond the scope of even his carelessness.

Luckily, the room is empty, though that doesn’t quell the frantic pounding of his heart as he scrambles into a seating position.

His head is fuzzy—it feels as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton balls. He tries to reach into his memory, to piece together how he wound up here, of all places, but he draws a blank. The last thing he remembers is stepping into The Box, waiting for a few agonizing hours, then finally receiving the all-clear to open the hatch and step outside into his new life—

And after that, everything is gone. 

On the desk beside him, someone has placed a scrap of paper with a message instructing all students of Hope’s Peak Academy to assemble in the gymnasium at 8:00 sharp scrawled sloppily in crayon.

He’s not a _real student,_ not really. He knows he’s only here as a glorified science experiment—he certainly doesn’t possess skills of the caliber required to normally be admitted. Even if the paperwork said he was part of class 78, he knew he wasn’t a real member, not in the sense the others were.

Even so...the fact that he had woken up here, of all places, next to a note clearly addressed to the students of Hope’s Peak...it had to mean something.

He was thankful to find that he still had his rope and borrowing bag on him, as well as his needle-sword, which was strapped against his waist where it belonged.

It’s a semi-quick climb to the floor and scamper over to the vents, which he promptly squeezes into. It’s dark and chilly, but it’s safe, and he feels at ease. 

He sets off towards where he hopes the gymnasium is, and hopes for the best.

* * *

Once the bear has finally vanished, Makoto is left trembling. 

He’d watched the entire announcement from one of the ceiling vents. It was odd to see all of the other Ultimates crowded beneath him; from his perspective, they looked so _small_. He wonders if that’s how he looks to humans.

In all of his wildest dreams, he could never imagine that his acceptance to be part of the program at Hope’s Peak would lead him to _this_ —a killing game. One that, it seemed, there was no escape from. 

He runs around the school several times, looking for any escape route, _anything_ to help them escape this hell, but he fails. Whoever has put them in here came in prepared. That thought scares him.

Once the sun sets, he finally enters the kitchen and manages to borrow something to eat. He doesn’t think the others know he exists, and he’d like to keep it that way—after all, if someone was determined enough to escape that they’d _kill_...well, he’d probably be the easiest victim. After he finishes eating, banishing the unpleasant thoughts from his head, he scurries back into the vents.

He stays tucked away there, curled up on the cold, hard metal, until he dozes into an uneasy sleep. 

* * *

The next day, he makes his way to the multimedia room with the others at Monokuma’s command. (The others, of course, do not know this.) He watches as they each receive a thin box with a DVD inside, as they insert them into their respective players, and as their faces pale with shock and horror. A chill creeps down his spine, and he feels awful that he feels thankful that there’s not one for him.

Or at least, that’s what he thought. When the room finally empties, leaving only a cold, somber, emptiness, one of the screens flicks to life.

Makoto stares in horror at his own name glowing back at him.

The icy dread only grows as the video rolls, and he cannot stop himself from trembling as pictures flash onscreen. Pictures of his home, which has been completely and utterly demolished. His parents and Komaru are nowhere to be seen.

As the video player finally clicks off, he’s left with two realizations:

The mastermind, whoever it is, knows of his existence.  
His family is most likely dead.

* * *

He can’t fall asleep that night, so instead, he takes to pacing the vents, searching fruitlessly for hope of escape. He’s just finished his second round and starting his third when he hears footsteps.

A chill runs down his spine, and he creeps over to a vent grate, peering through the slats.

It’s the redhead, the baseball player, making his way through the halls. There’s a piece of paper clutched in his hand. He stops at a door, looks around briefly, and knocks.

The door swings open. Leon enters, and the door slams shut. 

Makoto stares in horror at the closed door before scampering into actions. He rushes through the vents, bag swinging wildly at his hip, before he manages to arrive at the proper grate. 

There is a dead body on the floor, a knife plunged into his chest. Red hair is fanned out around a paper-white head like a halo. On the bed, a girl—Maizono, the pop idol—sits, hands wrapped around her knees. She is deathly pale, as if she can’t believe what she has done, and tremors wrack her body.

Makoto wrenches his gaze away from the body. He feels sick to his stomach. For awhile he sits with his back against the vent wall, trying to control his breathing, as a sense of cold, icy dread grips him.

At some point, he must have passed out, because the next thing he knows he’s being jerked awake by the sound of a bell ringing. The memories of what he saw rush back to him, and he barely manages to suppress a whimper of fear.

He peeks back out of the vent to a very different scene. The body is still there—pale, and lifeless, and stained red—but instead of the pop idol crouched upon the bed, there is a swarm of teens, all picking their way around with matching expressions of horror on their face.

 _They’re investigating_ , he realizes dimly. _They’re trying to figure out what happened. Because if they can’t figure out who did it…_

An image flashes unbidden before his eyes of all the others teens lying dead on the ground, their eyes glassy and glazed over. A shiver runs down his spine.

_I have to make sure that doesn’t happen._

As he crouches there, biting his lip and pondering what to do, voices filter into the vent.

“—body was found in Fujisaki-san’s room. Who else could have done it?”

“She swore she’s innocent, though…”

“Well, of course she’d say that—she doesn’t want to die!”

“We don’t have all the evidence yet. I think it’s still too early to be pointing fingers…”

Makoto frowns. _Fujisaki-san’s room…? That’s the programmer, right? But when I saw it last night, it was definitely Maizono in there. Could she…_

Then everything clicks, and his stomach sinks in horror.

He has to do something. He has to say something, or nearly everyone here will die.

Another bell rings, four times in succession. The bear’s voice crackles overhead, and it’s everything he can do not to scream in frustration as the students begin filing dejectedly out of the room.

One of them lingers, however, and Makoto realizes this might be the best chance he’ll get.

Before he can stop himself, he’s scurrying out of the vent and onto the floor, hands cupped around his mouth as he stares up, up, up.

“Hey!” he shouts.

The purple-haired girl freezes, and Makoto feels his heart pound as her eyes slowly lower themselves. 

The two of them stay frozen like that for a moment before Makoto’s mouth begins to move again.

“I—I know we don’t have much time,” he manages to say. There’s a tremor in his voice—it must be obvious how terrified he is—but he presses on nonetheless. “B-but I—I saw who did it. I saw.”

The girl’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and she slowly, deliberately brings her body down into a crouch. She’s still looming over him, but rather than being the size of a building, she’s closer in size to a rather large house. It doesn’t make Makoto feel much better.

“Quickly,” she says, her voice soft. “Tell me what you saw.”

And Makoto does. It’s shaky, and maybe slightly incoherent, but he explains everything.

He’s just finished his account when the bell rings again, and the bear’s voice returns.

“Ahem!” it grouses. “I did say everyone! Get your butts to the elevator in the next two minutes, or well...you probably don’t want to find out. Puhuhuhu!”

The girl barely reacted during Makoto’s retelling, and even now, her face remains stoic. She simply nods curtly before responding, “We’d better head there, and quickly.”

Makoto barely has the time to formulate a single coherent thought— _we?_ —before he is swept into the air by fingers as long as he is tall. He flails as he feels his feet leave the ground, but the gloved fingers are unyielding. Thankfully, it’s only a few seconds before he’s released, but not on the ground—he’s in a dark, small cocoon, fabric encasing him on every side. There’s a ribbon of light at the top of his vision, but other than that, he’s in darkness.

He’s in a pocket, he realizes. The girl put him in a _pocket._

He doesn’t have much time to be angry, though, because the next thing he knows, the girl is moving, each of her footsteps jostling him back and forth.

When the girl stops, he’s on his back and struggling to right himself, but he freezes at a familiar high-pitched voice.

“Oh, goodie—I see you finally made it! And...ohoho, how kind of you to escort our other friend! I wasn’t gonna make him participate in the trials given his...well... _everything_ , but it’ll be so much more fun with him here!”

A chill creeps up Makoto’s spine. There is no doubt in mind that the bear is referring to him.

There are other voices now, almost unbearably loud, and as the girl begins to move again, he clamps his hands over his ears and resigns himself to a long night.

* * *

It’s a long, painful ordeal. He can’t see much of anything from within the girl’s pocket, but he can hear—and he hears it all. He hears how the crime is immediately pinned on Fujisaki, who sounds like she wants nothing more than to go home. Thankfully, the purple-haired girl is able to steer the conversation, bringing up pieces of evidence that conflict with the picture everyone else had painted, the picture that Maizono had so carefully tried to construct. 

As horrified as Makoto is that Maizono killed someone, by the end of the trial, he can’t help but sympathize for her. Her sobs drown out nearly every other voice in the trial room, and it’s a horrible sound—loud and broken and full of despair. Besides, it’s not entirely her fault, not really—it’s the bear’s, for pitting them all against each other. For hurting their loved ones.

Makoto doesn’t see what happens after that. He hears pop music blaring, and can make out bright lights flashing from outside the pocket. He wriggles around, trying to get a better view, but something dark gently presses itself against the pocket’s opening, effectively blocking him off. He belatedly realizes it’s the girl’s gloved hand, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

(When he hears screams of horror coming from the others moments later, he’s somewhat glad he wasn’t able to see what happened.)

It feels like an eternity before the fingers that had deposited him into the pocket return. This time, he doesn’t struggle as they gently wrap themselves around his frame and pull him out into the open. He’s set onto something hard, and he shuffles himself to his feet, gazing around blearily.

The girl has put him on a dresser. The two of them are thankfully alone, in what he assumes is the girl’s bedroom. She’s standing a few inches away from the dresser, bent in a crouch so that he’s at her eye level.

Makoto swallows. His mouth feels, once again, like sandpaper.

Finally, the girl breaks the silence. “Sorry for grabbing you earlier,” she says. Her tone betrays no emotion; her eyes are the same way. “I was in a rush, and I wasn’t sure if Monokuma wanted you there or not. I didn’t think you’d be able to walk there yourself in two minutes.”

Makoto blinks. “Oh,” he says dumbly. _So...she was just trying to make sure I didn’t...die._ “It’s—it’s okay,” he manages to add. “Thanks for that, then.”

The girl dips her head slightly, and another moment of awkward silence passes before the girl breaks it.

“I don’t know what you are—“ and at that, Makoto freezes, “—or who you are, for that matter, but it’s apparent you’re just as much as a victim to all of this as the rest of us. Care to tell me your name?”

“Makoto. Um, Naegi.”

The girl accepts this with a nod. “Kyoko Kirigiri,” she returns. Her eyebrows knit together, and Makoto resists the urge to flinch—he feels as if she’s searching him for secrets.

“I’m assuming you’re attempting to stay hidden from the others?” Makoto nods, and Kirigiri presses on. “That’s wise. Given your size, there’s not much you’d be able to do to defend yourself.”

Makoto already knows this, but hearing her say it makes his shudder all the same. When he glances up, her eyes are softer. They no longer look like they’re boring through him.

“I’m going to head to bed, now,” she finally says. “It’s been a long day. You should get some rest, too.”

Makoto nods as Kirigiri straightens up, so that she’s standing at her full height. Makoto scampers towards the edge, fishing his hook out of his borrowing bag in preparation to climb down. 

When he reaches the bottom, he swivels around, glancing up at Kirigiri, who’s now perched on the edge of the bed. She’s watching him with an unreadable expression.

Before he can think twice about it, he calls out, “Good night, Kirigiri-san.”

Kirigiri blinks, her blank expression briefly morphing into one of shock.

As Makoto crawls into the vent, he hears her respond, “Good night, Naegi-kun.”

He makes it a few feet away from the grate before he collapses, too tired to push onwards. He lays his borrowing bag out as a makeshift pillow and lays himself down on the metal floor. It’s only a matter of heartbeats before he’s out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: @sparrowrider


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a conversation is had and a body gets discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m realizing now that I forgot to link this in the last chapter, which I need to amend immediately (edit: it’s been amended!), but this story was actually largely inspired by a super talented Tumblr artist!
> 
> [Check it out here!](https://sam-cant-function.tumblr.com/post/617953922935668736/how-bout-some-more-tiny-makoto-d)
> 
> Check out the original post above! :D 
> 
> This chapter was mostly written in one sitting, and it’s largely unedited, so lemme know if I screw up ><
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> DR THH spoilers, violence/death/blood (you get the gist—it’s Danganronpa!)

Makoto doesn’t see much of Kirigiri the next day.

He’s too busy borrowing—sleeping on the vents has gotten old quickly, and he’s already gone far too long without eating or drinking. Luckily, there’s a warehouse that has an abundance of useful things, and by the next afternoon he has a makeshift bed made out of an emptied matchbox and a few washcloths. 

He almost forgets the situation he’s in until the bear’s voice orders them all to convene in the gym once more.

Once again, he finds himself crouched over a vent grate, gazing down at the Ultimates as they await Monokuma’s instructions. Kirigiri is standing apart from everyone else, but he can see her eyes flicking in different directions—probably searching for him.

And then Monokuma arises and provides the motive, and Makoto’s world shatters yet again.

The bear may not have given out a slip of paper with Makoto’s name on it, but he didn’t need to. Makoto knew what the bear would reveal should the time limit come to pass: his very existence.

And given the circumstances they were all in, that could be very, very dangerous.

As soon as everyone is dismissed, Makoto dives back into the maze of vents, making a beeline for one grate in particular. He is grateful to see that Kirigiri is hunched over the desk, scribbling something down onto a pad of paper, by the time he arrives, and he wastes no time squeezing between the bars.

“Kirigiri-san!” he shouts.

Kirigiri doesn’t respond—he must be too far away, his voice too small, for her to hear. He grabs his hook, scurries up to the edge of the desk, and tosses it upwards. Within moments, he is heaving himself up onto the surface of the desk, quickly shoving his rope back into his bag.

When he turns around, he can’t stop himself from jumping upon seeing that Kirigiri’s gaze was already fixed on him.

“Kirigiri-san!” he calls once the shock has worn off. “Sorry to intrude—I just wanted to talk to you.”

Kirigiri nods, and Makoto vaguely registers a hint of amusement in her expression.

“I’m assuming this is about the latest motive,” she responds, folding her hands on top of the pad of paper. “It seems likely that Monokuma would reveal your presence should the time limit expire.”

“Yeah,” Makoto says, gaze dropping to his feet. He feels embarrassed, suddenly—embarrassed that he needs to talk to a human at all. It’s an odd feeling, but he presses onwards. “I just...I don’t know what to do.”

Kirigiri looks lost in thought for a moment before she speaks. “Well, if we need to cross that bridge, we will,” she says evenly. “If you’re worried about your safety, I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“Right.” Makoto nods sharply, still unable to look up. He’s certain his ears are red, and he can only hope Kirigiri doesn’t notice.

“Naegi-kun,” she says, softly, prompting Makoto to look up. “I...I don’t know how things will turn out, but...don’t lose hope.”

Makoto’s hands curl into fists, and his head jerks shakily up and down in a nod. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “You’re right.”

He hears Kirigiri sigh softly before saying, “I don’t think I properly thanked you for the tip for the last murder, by the way. So...thank you. It was very insightful.”

Makoto laughs, scrubbing a hand through his hair as a blush dusts his cheeks. “Ah...it wasn’t a big deal. It was honestly luck that I happened to see it. I mean, not that it was lucky that it happened at all, but...you know what I mean.”

Kirigiri’s eyebrows inch upwards, and it might be his imagination, but it almost seems like she’s smiling.

“Either way,” she responds. “It took courage to reveal yourself to me to save everyone else. That’s...admirable.”

Makoto feels his face growing redder, and he manages a shrug. “Well...it was the right thing to do.”

Kirigiri hums noncommittal, and Makoto briefly wonders if he’s said something wrong before she says, “Well, thank you, again.”

Makoto smiles up at her. For a moment, the two of them are silent, before Kirigiri breaks it.

“Is there anything else you needed…?”

Makoto dimly realizes that’s her polite way of asking him to leave, and he laughs lightly, scampering backwards as he reaches into his bag for his hook.

“No, that’s all. Uh, thank you. For letting me talk to you. I feel better, now.”

Kirigiri inclines her head as Makoto secures his hook on the edge of the table. He can feel her eyes on him as he slowly but surely climbs down, and he’s not sure how it feels.

Once he reaches the ground, he bids Kirigiri another goodbye, to which she responds with a simple farewell of her own. With that, he crawls back into the vents, feeling her gaze on him all the way.

* * *

He spends the rest of the day pacing anxiously. To occupy his restless mind, he takes stock of the foodstuffs and knick-knacks he’s acquired, counting them again and again. It doesn’t help. It’s almost a relief when night falls, and he has an excuse to snuggle into his matchbox, but predictably, he can’t sleep.

Instead, he decides to take a walk. He could stand to stretch his legs.

As he walks, he contemplates. What will he do if his secret is outed? How will the others react to learning of his existence? He hopes they’re half as accommodating as Kirigiri has been, though he has his doubts—a few of them seem to have dangerously short fuses, and explosive tempers to boot.

His thoughts come to a grinding halt when he hears the distant sound of footsteps. The back of his neck prickles ominously— _what could someone be doing up at this hour?_ —and he immediately breaks into a run. 

It doesn’t take long for him to reach his destination, and what he sees is enough to make him stop in his tracks.

It’s Togami. Entering the girls’ locker room.

And apparently, he’s found some way to circumnavigate the rules Monokuma had put forth, because the gatling gun stoutly affixed to the ceiling remains quiet.

Makoto hesitates. Togami can’t be up to anything good—then again, he doesn’t hear any shrieking, so he’s probably not peeping. But as badly as he wants to follow him, he’s afraid of incurring Monokuma’s wrath—Togami may have found a way in, but Makoto has no idea how.

Then again...it’s only the gun that bars entry, right? Makoto could just scamper a little further into the vent systems and presumably peep into the room himself. The gun wouldn’t be able to do anything, right?

He needs to know. What if Togami is murdering someone? (Again, it’s unlikely, given the lack of screams, but still.) With a deep breath and a flick of his tail, he leans forward and scampers on ahead.

And...

He was right to be apprehensive, apparently.

Because there is a dead body—the body of Chihiro, of all people—and there is Togami, stringing her corpse up upon the weight rack like it’s nothing. Like he’s not handling the body of one of the most infallibly sweet people amongst them.

Nausea roils about within him, but he tamps down on it, instead forcing himself to back away and begin running.

He finds himself in Kirigiri’s room once again, and to his relief, she’s not asleep—she’s sitting at the desk, thumbing through a book. He wastes no time squeezing through the bars and beginning his ascent to the top of the desk. Kirigiri must notice him this time, because he hears her voice rumbling softly overhead as he finishes his climb.

“Naegi-kun...is something wrong?”

“It’s—it’s Chihiro-san,” he pants. Kirigiri’s face melts into one of grim concern as he continues. “She’s—she’s—“

“Dead?”

Makoto nods, and only now does he allow tears to gather in his eyes. The image of Chihiro’s lifeless corpse—her eyes rolled back into her he’d, her ash-brown hair hanging limply as Togami affixed her arm to the weight rack using a cord, the blood trickling down her scalp—is burned into his mind, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on anything.

“Girl’s locker room,” he manages to mumble. “And...Togami is there. He’s...he’s doing something to her body.”

Kirigiri is already on her feet. “I need to investigate.” She begins to sweep out of the room, leaving Makoto alone on the desk.

Makoto hesitates—because as much as he wants to follow, to get some answers, the last thing he wants is to see Chihiro again. In the end, his curiosity wins out, and he turns and begins the journey back to the second-floor locker rooms.

As he nears the locker room, however, the intercom crackles overhead.

“Hmm...huuh...you guys couldn’t have waited until the morning to discover a body?” Monokuma’s voice, sounding distinctly sleepy and disgruntled, fills the air. “I appreciate the dedication and all, but geez...anyway, a body has been discovered, and all that. Investigate, trial, blah blah blah, you get the point. I’m going back to sleep until the trial…”

With that, the transmission ends. Makoto swallows, a newfound vigor pumping through his veins, and scampers forwards.

Kirigiri has already confronted Togami, who is standing outside of the locker room, a sour look on his face. (Then again, that’s pretty par for the course for Togami.) His ears twitch as he creeps closer, straining to pick up on their conversation.

“—have to realize how this seems, yes?” Kirigiri’s face is impassive, even as she interrogates Togami.

“I don’t give a damn how suspicious it makes me look,” Togami sniffs. “If you truly believe it was me, you’re welcome to cast your vote as such in the trial. 

“The truth will come out one way or another,” Kirigiri responds. Even her voice is stoic.

Togami scoffs and rolls his eyes. “So confident. Well, I suppose we’ll see if you’re as good as you seem to think you are at the trial.”

He begins to stalk away, the faintest hint of a smirk visible on his face. Kirigiri watches his leave for a mere heartbeat before she turns and enters the locker room, presumably to investigate.

As Togami leaves, the hallway begins to fill with some of the others—roused from their sleep by Monokuma’s announcement, no doubt. Makoto is beginning to feel vaguely light-headed as he backs away from the scene—there’s not much he can do to aid the investigation anyway, especially since he has no plans to talk during the trial—but the prospect of trekking back to his matchbox bed and sticking his head in the figurative sand is equally unappealing. So, instead, he sits beside the grate, eyes fixed on the scuffed metal wall of the vent shaft, as horrified sounds filter in.

Minutes, or maybe hours, pass before the intercom comes to life once more.

“Morning, kiddos! Hope ya had a nice, fruitful investigation, ‘cuz it’s trial time! See you all at the elevator! Puhuhuhu!” 

Makoto scrubs a hand across his face, crawling back to the vent bars to peer through them. Everyone is making their way back towards the corridor, per Monokuma’s request—everyone save Kirigiri, who is lingering in the hallway, eyes flicking back and forth.

_Looking for him, maybe?_

Once the hall has cleared aside from Kirigiri, he pokes his head out, calling a soft greeting to her. This time, she hears him almost immediately, and she wastes no time getting to the point.

“Are you coming to the trial?”

Makoto scuffs his shoe against the wall. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

Kirigiri nods. “I don’t think you have to, if what Monokuma said last time is anything to go by.” She hesitates for a moment before adding, “If you don’t want to, it’s understandable. Not many people can handle talking about death in such a detailed manner.”

Makoto swallows, his mind churning. He’s exhausted, and the last thing he wants is to attend another trial in which someone, inevitably, will be put on the hot seat and executed. (Or, of course, almost everyone else could be executed, but he doesn’t want to think about that.) But at the same time, he wants answers. He wants to know who did this to Chihiro, and why. He has to know.

So he forces himself to square his shoulders as he responds, “I’m going.”

Kirigiri nods again, and he braces himself as her gloved hand swoops down, sure she’s going to grab him again. This time, however, she simply lays her hand flat on the ground, palm-up, and waits. Makoto realizes belatedly that she’s waiting for him to climb on.

It wasn’t his first time climbing into a human’s hand, but this time felt different from when he’d done it with the Hope’s Peak scout. Kirigiri didn’t flinch, or squirm, or shift unexpectedly; she was thankfully steady until he was situated, after which she carefully brought him up to her coat pocket.

Before she released him, however, she paused. “I hope you don’t mind. I figured you didn’t want the others to see you.”

Makoto nods, surprised but nonetheless grateful, and finds himself smiling faintly. “Yeah, that’s right. Thanks.”

Kirigiri dips her head briefly before tilting her hand. This time, Makoto is ready for the quick drop into the pocket, as is he ready for the way it sways wildly as Kirigiri makes her way through the school.

What comes next blurs together in his mind, a likely outcome of his sleep deprivation. They arrive at the trial room soon enough, and there’s bickering—so much bickering, even more than last time. He manages to follow what is pieced together to some extent, though some of the details elude him. Like last time, it’s not a pretty tale, and it almost makes him wish he’d stayed behind in the vents.

He doesn’t quite remember what comes next. As horrible as this situation is, his lack of sleep finally catches up with him, and it certainly doesn’t help that Kirigiri’s pocket is surprisingly warm and comfortable, once he gets used to it. As the others are keying in their votes, he finds his eyes closing, and he’s too exhausted to try and prevent it.

He begins to drift off moments later, the distant sounds of engines revving echoing in his mind as he falls into an uneasy sleep.


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which canon begins to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: death, mentions of needles and drugs
> 
> I struggled a bit with this chapter. I always struggle when it comes to deciding what elements of canon to follow and which ones to discard, but I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. Hope you enjoy! :D

Makoto doesn’t see much of Kirigiri for awhile after that.

He spends much of the next day roaming around incessantly, trying to keep an eye on everyone in case something happens—but to his disappointment, Kirigiri is nowhere to be seen. He knows she’s perfectly capable of handling herself, but he can’t help the pang of worry that strikes him every time he rounds a corner and she’s nowhere to be seen.

So instead, he watches everyone else. Should the worst happen for a third time and another one of his classmates ends up dead, his testimony could wind up saving their lives. 

Borrowing has gotten easier, thankfully; now that there are less people and more open rooms, he no longer has to wait for the moon to rise before he feels safe venturing out of the vent and creeping around in the shadows. 

In hindsight, it probably makes him lazy, which is a very dangerous trait for a borrower to have.

Maybe that’s why it happens.

He had just slipped into the nurse’s office in search of some cotton balls—something to pad his matchbox bed to ease the strain on his back—and is making his way along one of the wire-rack shelves when he hears footsteps.

Every muscle in his body tenses, but he manages to avoid freezing in place and instead darts behind the nearest object, which happens to be a cardboard box advertising laxatives on the side. The click of heels against the tile floor echoes ominously throughout the room, along with a light, girly humming—it must be Celestia, then.

What is Celestia doing in the nurse’s office? She doesn’t sound hurt—she’s still humming some meandering, lighthearted tune, and Makoto can faintly hear the opening of cabinets and the clinking of glass bottles as she moves about. It sends a shiver down his spine; she sounds almost predatory, like a lioness who’s cornered a mouse and is toying with her food.

Could she be...planning something?

A cold sweat breaks out on Makoto’s face at the thought. Surely she wasn’t that intent on winning the cash prize Monokuma was offering up? Then again, she was the Ultimate Gambler; staking her life on a huge sum of money wasn’t exactly out-of-character for her, all things considered. 

If she was doing something, Makoto decides, he has to find out. He can’t just cower in fear whilst his classmate is cooking up a potential murder scheme, not if he can wind up providing testimony that would save the rest of his classmates’ lives.

His mind made up, he creeps to the edge of the box and peers around the corner. 

The Ultimate Gambler is standing crouched over the countertop directly below him. Thankfully, she hasn’t yet detected his presence; all of her attention is focused on the precarious task at hand. Which is, apparently, carefully peeling the label off of a small glass bottle.

Makoto doesn’t understand what she was doing; the finer points of human medication escape him, but it certainly doesn’t seem like nothing. She must be plotting something, Makoto affirms silently, and he has to find out what before it is too late.

He creeps ever closer, his tail twitching back and forth. She still hasn’t seen him, too invested in the careful task of extracting some sort of liquid from one of the bottles, the label of which was just out of sight. If he can just get a little closer—

Then, the worst happens.

Makoto, in all his fixated determination, knocks his shoulder against a bottle of baby powder. It isn’t a forceful bump by any means, but it is just enough for the bottle to teeter awkwardly until gravity takes over, sending the bottle crashing into the shelf.

Celestia’s eyes are on him in a heartbeat.

Choking on the white, sweet-smelling dust that was now drifting lazily through the air, he runs, feet scrabbling against the shelf. He hears a muffled curse from Celestia as he darts towards safety, not stopping even when a hand comes crashing down in the spot he’d been a second before. Taking advantage of the powdery cloud, he manages to make it back to the vent, spewing sickly-sweet dust as the human continues to curse and fumble behind him.

Once he has put some distance between himself and the nurse’s office, he allows himself to sink to his knees, coughing a few more lungfuls of baby powder out. His heart is thudding wildly; while he is safe now, that doesn’t change the fact that Celestia had seen him. She’d almost captured him, too; if he had hesitated even a second before he made his getaway, there was no doubt he’d be swept up in a dainty fist. 

Now that he’d been seen, though, he had no idea what might happen. Celestia might tell the others, and once word got out that a tiny creature was spying on them from the vents, well...that certainly didn’t bode well for him.

If only he could find Kirigiri. She’d know what to do. 

He allows himself to mope for another couple minutes before he pushes himself to his feet, stumbling along towards the little spot in the vents he’d made his home. Whatever happens, he would just have to weather it like he did anything else—and hopefully, Kirigiri would return in time to help him out.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed by the time he’s rounding the corner to the last stretch of vent until he’s home, but a sudden, horribly-familiar sound resonating through the air has him freezing in place.

A bell chimes four times in succession, and a high-pitched, far-too-gleeful voice crows, “A body has been discovered! Everyone please report to the dining hall!”

As soon as Monokuma drops the location, Makoto turns and runs, adrenaline pumping through his veins. How could this happen? While he was moping over almost being captured, someone was taking someone else’s life—if only he’d been there, he might have been able to stop it—

His train of self-deprecating thoughts screeches to a halt as he arrives at the vent grate, skidding to a halt to peer through the bars. The scene is...not entirely what he expected.

Hifumi is lying dead in the center of the room, several of his classmates crowded around his body. Makoto can’t help how his heart swells with sorrow; Hifumi was a little odd, but he didn’t deserve to die. Asahina is crouching over his body, oddly pale as tears slide down her face, while the other stand a couple feet back. Celestia is among them.

“I—I thought—but it said, I swear it said—“ Asahina stutters out. 

“I’m so sorry, Hina-san,” Celestia responds. She sounds genuinely distressed as she lays a well-groomed hand on Asahina’s shoulder. “It was but a mere mistake. It could have happened to any of us.”

“B-but it cost him his life!” Hina burst out. Makoto’s ears twitch in confusion as he listens closer; is Asahina claiming to be the killer? “I—I was supposed to know! But somehow I messed up, a-and…”

“There, there,” Celestia croons, and Makoto feels his stomach twisting into knots. Somehow, it seems that Asahina had killed Hifumi, and now she is practically upon death row.

But despite the seemingly cut-and-dry nature of this death, something doesn’t feel right. Makoto peers closer, and he catches a glimpse of something shiny lying on the floor near Asahina’s feet. 

It’s a tiny glass bottle, identical to the one Celestia had been tampering with.

Makoto’s heart begins to pound. Celestia had to have something to do with this; there’s no other explanation. But somehow, the gambler had managed to make Asahina appear as the killer. The others are buying it, too; they keep flashing her pained, sympathetic looks, as if they have already resigned themselves to watching Asahina’s execution.

Should he tell someone? With Kirigiri nowhere to be found, he’d have to reveal himself, and he’s not sure how well they’ll take his presence. But he can’t just sit here and watch them botch the case because they don’t have all the facts.

He’s just squaring himself up to slip out of the vent, plotting the best way to draw attention to himself, when a familiar head of purple hair appears.

Kirigiri.

He sighs in relief as she watches her stride forward, kneeling besides the body and immediately beginning to inspect it with a keen eye.

Hagakure clears his throat awkwardly, but Kirigiri doesn’t so much as flinch, instead continuing to inspect the body clinically. 

“Uh, Kirigiri-san?” Hagakure eventually says. “We already know who did it.” He winces as Asahina muffles a sob into her hand.

“I think it wise to fully investigate the scene of the crime before jumping to conclusions.”

“Yeah, but…” Hagakure scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “We watched the whole thing happen.”

“Sometimes things aren’t all what they seem.”

Hagakure blows out a sigh. “Alright...suit yourself, I guess.”

Eventually, the moment he’s been waiting for arrives, and the crowd of awkward bystanders peels away, leaving Kirigiri alone over Hifumi’s body. Makoto doesn’t hesitate; he leaps out of the vent and scurries up to her, drawing her deep purple gaze in an instant.

“Kirigiri-san,” he blurts out. “It—I think Celestia might have something to do with this. I saw her earlier, tampering with medicine bottles.”

Kirigiri nods. “I suspected as much. Where were you when this occurred?”

“The nurse’s office.”

Kirigiri nods again, and goes to stand up before she pauses, her gaze snapping back down towards Makoto. 

“Would you like to come with me?”

She almost sounds...shy, Makoto thinks. Like she’s not used to asking for favors from people, even for something so simple as someone accompanying her.

Makoto smiles up at her. “Yeah. I would like that.”

Her face softens, and this time, when her hand descends palm-up, Makoto is ready to climb on. She deposits him into her pocket once more, and he weathers the way it swings around wildly until they arrive.

In her hand once more, he points towards the shelves. Celestia clearly tried to clean up what had happened earlier as best she could; the baby powder bottle is standing upright once more, and the powder around the spot he’d been hiding is gone. But he can still see a trail of powder peeking out from behind the laxative box where he’d fled, and Kirigiri clearly sees it too, as she leans in closer to inspect it. 

Once she’s done investigating that, she sweeps around the office slowly and deliberately, pausing to inspect something every now and then. At one point, she finds a glass bottle that Celestia must have attempted to hide, its label peeled away, and she tucks it into one pocket. 

She’s just finished her investigation when the intercom crackles, and Monokuma informs them it’s time for the trial. Kirigiri’s eyes find him once more, and when she asks if he wants to accompany her again, he agrees without a moment of hesitation. 

The trial is, surprisingly, rather short. Though most of the group was ready to vote off Asahina at the beginning, Kirigiri’s quick breakdown of the facts and Celestia’s subsequent meltdown proved to be enough to convince everyone. The full tale goes like this:

Celestia had peeled off the label of a bottle of morphine, then emptied a bottle of epinephrine and filled it with water. She had then slipped some peanut butter into Hifumi’s lunch, something the boy was apparently deathly allergic to, and as he began to have a severe allergic reaction, Celestia mentioned seeing epinephrine in the nurse’s office. Asahina, who was deemed the fastest, retrieved the bottle Celestia had filled with water and administered a dosage with a syringe, failing to notice as Celestia covered the label with the morphine label.

When the reaction failed to subside and Hifumi died, Asahina took another look at the bottle, now disguised as a bottle of morphine, and wrongfully assumed she had grabbed the wrong bottle and ended Hifumi’s life. In reality, Asahina had given Hifumi nothing but water, allowing the allergic reaction to run its course until he was dead—the reaction induced by Celestia herself.

Though it’s short, it hurts to listen to. Asahina breaks down in relief once she realizes she hadn’t, in fact, made a life-ending mistake. Celestia also breaks down, but it’s much more ugly; she cries, and shouts, and cusses everyone out. Makoto even hears her accent drop a few times. Even though she plotted a murder for a cash sum, Makoto doesn’t want her to die; she, too, is merely a victim of this twisted game, after all.

Eventually, however, Celestia accepts her death, and the execution commences. Once again, he burrows to the bottom of the pocket, shivering despite the heat emanating from what can only be a fire. There’s a large crash, and the acrid smell of smoke burns his nose as his classmates cry out, and then it’s over.

Kirigiri returns to her room shortly thereafter, releasing him onto the dresser. For a moment, they sit—him on the wooden surface, her on the bed—too emotionally wiped to speak.

Then, Makoto breaks the silence. “I haven’t seen you around as much lately.”

Kirigiri shifts in place, her expression unreadable. “I’ve been...conducting my own investigation. Into this place and its history.”

Makoto’s mouth suddenly feels like sandpaper. 

“And...have you found anything?”

Kirigiri’s eyes bore into his. “Nothing about you, if that’s what you mean.” Makoto sighs with relief; he’s not sure he’s ready for Kirigiri to know his race’s secrets, steadfast as she’s been so far. “Though I do have questions.”

Makoto nods, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Y-yeah...I’d expect nothing less from you. I just...don’t know if I’m quite ready to tell you everything, yet.”

Kirigiri’s gaze drops to the ground, and there’s an emotion there he hasn’t seen before—hurt, maybe? Whatever it is, it doesn’t make him feel good.

“Not because I don’t trust you,” he quickly tacks on. “I just—you’re the first—well, technically second, I guess—human I’ve ever talked to. “My kind...we’re not supposed to be seen. It sort of goes against everything I’ve been taught, to spill everything to a human.”

Kirigiri seems to mull over his words for a few moments before she responds. “I trust you, Makoto. I wish you’d extend the same level of trust towards me, but...I understand why you’d be hesitant to. For your kind, placing your trust in the wrong person...it could be fatal.”

Makoto swallows, but bobs his head up and down. “Yeah. Not that I think you’d ever hurt me...you’ve had plenty of chances to do that, after all, and you haven’t. And, um, you’re really nice, and all. But...it’s just hard, going against everything you’ve been taught. Especially when your life isn’t the only one on the line.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and thankfully, Kirigiri doesn’t press. She simply looks back up at him, her eyes unreadable once more, and nods.

“I understand.”

Makoto cracks a shaky smile. “Thanks.”

For a few moments, neither of them speak, but Makoto breaks the awkward silence by clearing his throat.

“I’m, um. I’m kind of hungry, so I’m going to go get something to eat, if that’s okay…?”

The corners of Kirigiri’s mouth quirk upwards into what could be a smile. “You don’t need to ask my permission to go somewhere. I was going to do some more investigating tonight anyways.”

Makoto laughs, rubbing his neck. “Right. Then, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Kirigiri’s eyes twinkle faintly. “Yeah. See you around.”

With that, the two of them go their separate ways.

It’s a short trip to the kitchen, where the lights are thankfully off. As much as he hates to admit it, Celestia’s death did ensure she wouldn’t be able to let any details about his existence slip—assuming she hadn’t already told anyone about it, of course. It didn’t seem like she had, though, as she was probably too busy prepping for her murder—besides, there’s always the possibility she had seen only a glimpse of him and assumed that the small size and twitchy tail meant he was a rat.

He’s too engrossed in these thoughts as he wanders around, seeking out crumbs and food that has been left out, that he doesn’t sense the presence behind him until it’s too late.

Before he knows what’s happening, an enormous jar slams down around his body, trapping him behind glass walls twice as high as he is. He turns around slowly, his heart thumping wildly as fear begins to course through his veins, and meets a pair of gigantic gray eyes.

“Well, well, well,” the voice of Byakuya Togami rumbles. “What do we have here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> OKAY cliffhanger madness aside, a little explanation for why I changed things the way I did in this chapter:  
> Celestia's plan in canon revolved heavily around having the right amount of people at the right time, and since she doesn't know about Makoto yet in the story, I don't think it would be viable (unless she managed to rope Kirigiri into everything, or pin it on her, but I don't think that would be possible). Then again, it's been a little while since I watched the game, so maybe I'm mistaken. Either way, I decided the best course of action would be to plot an entirely new murder for Celeste, and there you have it! I hope it all makes sense!
> 
> Anyway, we're getting into really fun territory now, so I'm very excited for what happens next :D  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider dropping a comment! It fills my heart with hope (but no pressure if ya don't want to)! :)
> 
> Also also, come bother me on Tumblr at @sparrowrider !


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Makoto must deal with the aftermath of being caught, among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UHHH SO IT'S BEEN AWHILE HUH  
> Sorry about the wait!! Life has just been...stressful lol. But I finally got the Writing Juice(TM) back and yeah :D Anyway, hope y'all enjoy!  
> **Also, please note that this chapter contains some heavy chapter 4 spoilers**  
> TWs for this chapter:  
> Byakuya being Byakuya (I swear I love him guys), mentions of su/c/de(it's very briefly alluded to), some blood, and I think that's it!

Makoto fancies himself quite good at sensing the auras of others.

Not in an occult sense—that sort of thing is better left up to Hagakure-kun—but rather in terms of where they fall on a social hierarchy. Some people are apex predators; they can part crowds with but a withering glance, while others may be deer or rabbits, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

Byakuya Togami, in all his smug, self-assured confidence, is like a lion—and at the moment, Makoto knows he may as well be a mouse trapped between his paws.

As the Ultimate Affluent Prodigy looms over him, one hand clamped over his prison, Makoto can’t help the white-hot panic that flashes through him. There’s a faint smirk playing on Togami’s lips as he peers through the glass at Makoto, his visage warped by the curvature of the jar.

Suddenly, he can feel the jar shifting, the ground beneath him rotating until he tumbles down the glass walls and falls onto the glass floor. Togami’s hand moves to cover the jar’s opening, now overhead, and Makoto scrambles into a sitting position, trying and failing to ignore the way his body throbs in pain.

“For someone as small and forgettable as you,” Togami says, a sneer audible in his voice, “you sure did a poor job of hiding yourself.”

Makoto can’t even begin to think of a response to that.

Togami scoffs, and Makoto’s world shifts as the giant, presumably, moves to tuck the jar beneath one arm and exit the kitchen. With each step the giant takes, Makoto finds himself jostled from side to side, and he’s forced to brace himself against the side of the jar as his heart pounds in his chest.

Moments later, he hears a door click shut, and as his prison is moved once again he realizes he’s in one of the dorms—Togami’s, presumably. Said giant sets the jar down with a resounding clunk, something that rattles Makoto down to his bones, before sitting back in the desk chair.

For a moment, the two of them simply stare at one another. Makoto, somehow, does not break away from the giant’s piercing blue-gray gaze.

“So,” the giant rumbles, his voice like rolling thunder, “here’s what is going to happen. You’re going to tell me all the details about this killing game.”

Makoto blinks at that, because...what? And then suddenly, horribly, it clicks: Togami must think that, somehow, he’s behind this killing game. The thought makes him sick to his stomach—but even so, he can sort of see where Togami’s coming from. After all, for all the human knows, Makoto has been living in the vents, the perfect position for someone who would want to spy on them.

“I—I don’t know anything,” he responds, but he knows the tremor in his voice doesn’t reflect well on him. “Really, I...I woke up here with all of you. I’ve just been trying to stay out of trouble.”

“A likely story,” Togami scoffs, eyes narrowing in such a way that a chill shoots down Makoto’s spine. “Don’t play dumb. It’s obvious whoever is masterminding this has some sort of lackey, and you’re in the perfect position to be feeding them information.”

“What about the cameras?” Makoto protests. “What purpose would I serve when there’s a live feed of whatever is happening?”

“Cameras can’t directly interfere with our lives. And the mastermind can’t possibly be expected to watch everything as it transpires.”

Makoto feels his tail begin to twitch back and forth irritably. “Neither can I, though,” he points out feebly. “I’m just one guy.”

Togami rolls his eyes. “Even so, you’d be a fool to neglect the fact that the mastermind would benefit from some sort of extra pair of eyes.”

Makoto can’t think of a comeback to that, and from the smug look on Togami’s face, he reckons the giant has figured as much. So, out of options, he decides in a split-second decision to play the last card he has:

“Talk to Kirigiri-san,” he blurts out. “She—she can vouch for me.”

To his dismay, Togami doesn’t look the least bit mollified—if anything, the disdain on his face deepens. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised you’re in cahoots with the girl whose secrets outnumber everyone’s,” he snorts. “Have some sort of pact with her, do you? Are you feeding her information? Perhaps _that’s_ why she seems so sure of herself in trials.”

“No! Of—of course not!”

“So you say.” Togami takes a moment to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose again, and his lion-like smirk returns. “But I’ll be the judge of that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some more investigating to do. Sit tight for me, will you?”

Makoto bites down on his tongue as the giant before him stands, looming over him for a moment before he turns and exits, clicking off the light before he does so.

A heavy cloud of despair settles over him, and he slumps down, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. _How could I have let this happen?_ he ruminates to himself. _How could I have let myself get so careless?_

He knows, deep down, he ought to be looking for a method of escape, but weariness tugs at his eyelids and invades his brain like a fog. The bottom of the jar is cold and hard, a far cry from the cozy pile of cloth he’d assembled for himself, but he forces himself to lay down anyways, tucking his tail around himself.

Sleep somehow arrives, though it is fitful and shallow, and he wakes hours later feeling worse off than when he’d awoken. Every one of his muscles are sore, and his head pounds as he scrubs at his eyes.

Togami is, thankfully, nowhere to be seen, so Makoto takes the change to ease himself to his feet, even as his muscles protest, and take stock of his situation.

He’s still in the jar, which is on Togami’s desk. The lid, which is peppered with holes (he supposes he should be thankful that Togami, apparently, doesn’t want him to suffocate). 

Maybe if he can tip the jar over, he can figure out a way to unscrew the cap? It’s the best chance he has, so taking a deep breath, he rams his body against the jar with all of his might.

The jar wobbles slightly, but otherwise doesn’t move. His shoulder stings slightly, but even so, he backs up for another try.

It takes about three more pushes before he musters up enough force to make the jar topple forwards. The impact thoroughly jars him; he can feel his teeth rattling, but even so, a tiny sprig of hope pushes its way out of his heart—he’s a little closer to escape.

Once he feels his bones stop shaking beneath his skin, he eases himself back to his feet and pads over to the jar. The holes are unfortunately too small for him to fit through, but they’re easily big enough to stick his arm through, he discovers as he pokes an experimental arm through.

Another idea springs to mind, and he grips the lid of the jar with both hands through two of the holes. He’s never been the strongest borrower, but spending years hauling himself up onto surfaces ten times larger than him doesn’t count for nothing. With all of the strength he can muster, he pulls, and though his muscles practically scream in protest it all becomes worth it when he feels the cap begin to twist beneath him. 

A few more twists, and the lid clatters to the desk with a slight clang. His arms feel like limp noodles by his sides, but the overpowering flood of relief as he scampers out prevents him from dwelling on that. 

As he slowly stretches, reveling in the absence of the glass walls enclosing him, his ears pick up the faint rhythm of footsteps heading down the hall outside. He turns tail, eyes catching sight of the closest vent (he finds himself thankful that the rooms are apparently identical), and sprints as fast as he can towards the grate.

He slides between the bars just as the door opens behind him, and Togami’s thundering voice rings out in a series of very unprofessional curses.

He wastes no time putting distance between himself and Togami’s room. For a few minutes, he simply runs, not caring where his feet take him, before it strikes him that he should be looking for Kirigiri—he needs to fill her in on everything. With any luck, she’ll be able to help keep Togami from capturing him again.

Just as he begins to backtrack, however, the intercoms crackle to life, and the bear announces for them to meet in the gymnasium.

As much as Makoto would rather do anything else, he also knows the risk of disobeying Monokuma, and so he turns his aching feet towards the gym and wearily begins to make his way there, pondering what could possibly be in store next.

* * *

_Sakura Oogami._

He knows very little about the girl, except that logically, he should fear her. She’s enormous by even human standards, after all—and given her talent, he knows she could probably dispose of nearly anyone, borrower or not, without batting an eye.

So when Monokuma reveals that she has been working for him all along, he knows he should be terrified out of his wits.

But even though he’s never held a conversation proper with her, he’s...not. 

Maybe it’s his relentless tendency to seek the best in others, or the quiet, dignified way she carries herself, or the protective energy that seems to radiate from her, but Makoto finds that he doesn’t quite distrust Sakura, not as much as he probably should. 

If anything, he’s concerned—concerned for her, as the bear must hold something over her to force her to work for him.

The others, though...well. The same cannot be said of them. The hostility that arises within them is practically palpable, with the exception of Asahina, who seems determined to stick by her closest friend thus far.

It’s an uncomfortable situation to be sure, but what can he do? He’s stuck in the walls, an enigma to everyone but two people, one of whom hates his guts. And though he believes Sakura’s intentions are good, that doesn’t mean her kindness would extend to him.

Humans are rarely so kind.

And so, with a heavy heart, he turns and trudges away. He still has to talk to Kirigiri, after all.

* * *

Kirigiri is frustratingly slippery, he finds.

He knows she’s nose-deep in an investigation, but even so, he wishes she could press pause for just a moment—just enough for him to talk to her. Maybe it’s selfish, but she’s the only one who knows of him and who doesn’t believe him to be a traitor—and scuttling through the walls gets lonely after awhile.

But his efforts reward him after a little while, because during one of his hourly rounds around the school, he catches sight of her in the dorm hallway.

As he’s preparing to enter the vent leading to her room, however, he realizes that she’s passed her door, and is in fact hovering in front of another.

Togami’s dorm.

His heart stutters in his chest. What could Kirigiri possibly want with _Togami?_

After a quick knock, the door swings open to reveal the Ultimate Heir himself, who is looking more disgruntled than usual. He creeps closer to the grate, ears pricking as he attempts to make out their exchange.

“What,” Togami snaps.

“I know you had him,” Kirigiri coolly responds, cutting straight to the point. 

Togami stiffens—it’s a subtle thing, but Makoto catches it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Kirigiri snaps. The room gets noticeably cooler. “I know you caught Naegi-kun.”

Togami scoffs audibly. “I see you’ve made yourself friendly with the other traitor, then?”

“He’s not a traitor. He’s a victim, like the rest of us, and you’d better keep your hands off of him from now on.”

“Awfully protective, aren’t you?” Togami’s head tilts to the side, a menacing gleam in his eyes. “It makes me wonder what your role is in all of this...you and all those secrets you’re so determined to keep.”

Kirigiri doesn't respond to that right away; she simply stares Togami down, hands clenched by her sides.

“You’re smarter than this,” she says finally, her voice the softest it’s been the entire exchange. “I know you are.”

Togami simply rolls his eyes. “If that’s all you have to say, I have work to do. And since you seem to enjoy gallivanting with traitors, perhaps you can visit Oogami-san in the rec room. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you.”

With that, Togami slams the door in Kirigiri’s face. 

Makoto takes a deep breath, clutching the hem of his shirt to keep his hands from shaking. As Kirigiri stands there, he prepares to call out to her, or at least to follow her to somewhere more private so they can chat...but he pauses. 

Something Togami said doesn’t strike him quite right, and it tauntingly echoes through his mind: _“...perhaps you can visit Oogami-san in the rec room. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you.”_

Why does Togami know where Oogami was? The image of Togami messing with Fujisaki’s corpse springs to mind unbidden—Togami has no qualms about messing with dead bodies. And he knows Togami seems to want nothing to do with Oogami again, why would Togami know where Oogami is, if not…

It could be nothing. But it could be something, and Makoto cannot ignore that.

He wastes no time breaking into a run. As he navigates the sprawling maze of vents, his heart thumps like an errant drum in his chest, terror lending him speed.

Finally, he reaches the grate in the rec room, and he skids to a halt as he peers up and into the room. 

Oogami is there…

...and she’s alive.

He takes a deep, deep breath as relief crashes over him—but before he can relish the feeling, he notices something else.

For one, her head is bloodied; it runs down her forehead in rivulets, and shards of broken glass glitter in her long, silver-white hair.

And second...she’s writing something. A note, presumably.

A chill runs down his spine as he glances towards the door. It’s locked.

The gears in his mind turn as he glances up at Oogami. Oogami, who had been outed as traitor, only for her classmates to turn on her. Oogami, who was caught between Monokuma’s orders to spice up the killing game and her own desire to protect the people she cared about. Oogami, who was sporting some sort of injury after presumably having met with, at the very least, Togami…

For the umpteenth time since Makoto woke up in an abandoned classroom, he feels helpless. Because what can he do, really? He’s tiny, and untalented, and weak. Compared to the Ultimates in his class, literal and figurative giants, he’s practically nothing.

But as he watches Oogami write her suicide note, he realizes that as long as he can do something, he has to try.

And so, resolve crystallizing within him, he slips out of the grate, cups his hands around his mouth, and calls out to the giant before him:

“Hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I love Sakura too much okay ;-;  
> When I set out writing this, I wasn't expecting to distort canon as much as I have now, and even though it's not _too_ different, it's still more than I was expecting (given that I was expecting to stick almost religiously to canon, minus Makoto's situation lol)  
> I hope everything makes sense, though! 
> 
> Also if you enjoyed, please consider dropping a comment and/or a kudos—it really makes my day ^_^


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